


Spiced Cocoa

by Chocchi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9020092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocchi/pseuds/Chocchi
Summary: When the heating breaks down at Overwatch's Zurich headquarters, McCree helps Genji figure out a variety of ways to stay warm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for iggysdoodles on tumblr as part of the McGenji Secret Santa exchange.  
> hope everyone has happy holidays this year! as always, feedback is appreciated.

“Shit,” McCree hisses, through his teeth. It comes out in a little cloud. “God damn.”

“I concur,” Genji says, stiffly. His teeth don’t chatter, but it’s only because his jaw is clamped stubbornly together to keep just that from happening. His muscles, synthetic and organic alike, are all clamped down to keep shivers from wracking his body. “This is unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant is one word for it,” McCree grits out. “Shit. Fancy joint like Overwatch HQ, you’d think they’d be able to get someone ‘round to fix the heating in winter sooner ‘n this.”

Genji hums his agreement. It stutters out of him, jumping with a hitch in his breath when cold metal presses against organic skin. He thought he would be able to wait this out, at first, but he’s starting to second guess that choice. It’s been a full day without heat at the Zurich headquarters, and Genji’s already-battered skin can’t take much more of this. His body is still adjusting to all its new parts and processes and he wasn’t ready for the challenge of Zurich winter yet. At this rate, he’s going to have to lose the armor.

“McCree,” he finally asks, scrapping his pride. All his self-destructive tendencies aside, he can do better than dying of frostbite inside a building because he was too stubborn to take off his freezing armor. “Do you have a sweater I can borrow?”

If it was anyone but McCree, Genji wouldn’t do it. If it was anyone but McCree, Genji would be braced for the questions about how much good it would do to put a sweater on over armor. But it is McCree, so he just leads Genji down the halls to his quarters so he can dig through his closet.

“‘Fraid I don’t have much of my own except Blackwatch gear,” McCree says. He shoves the hoodies and light armor to the side. “Think the only thing I’ve got aside from the one I’ve got on is…. Ah. Yeah. Here.”

Genji opens his mouth, ready to politely accept whatever he’s being offered, only to stare at the offering instead. He closes his mouth. Opens it again. Closes it and gives McCree a dubious look, the tilt of his chin saying what can’t be seen behind the visor.

“Gabe made it as a joke gift a few years back,” McCree says, with a sheepish grin. It’s a red and yellow Christmas sweater, a tight warm knit with a nice pattern, and Genji would have put it on in a heartbeat if it didn’t say _BAMF_ across the front. “If y’want we can swap--I’ll put on this one, you can wear the one I got on right now?”

The one McCree has on right now is a lovely, soft dark blue pullover. Only the high collar of it is visible over the blue serape he’s layered over it. Part of Genji wants to accept this second offer. The red and yellow sweater, for all that it’s lovingly made and obviously well crafted, is the kind of embarrassment that only McCree can pull off. Another part of Genji wants to accept the first sweater for the statement it makes. It would be a walking advertisement that he associates with McCree--is friends with McCree--is close enough to _share clothes_ with McCree. He could mark himself as a _normal human_ for an afternoon. Just another Overwatch agent who gets cold and shares clothes. A regular agent drawn reluctantly in by McCree’s easy charm and friendly banter.

“Keep the one you have on,” Genji finally sighs, resignedly. He snatches the red and yellow sweater out of McCree’s hands. McCree beams. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’. You wanna borrow some sweats too? Legs gettin’ cold?”

“I have my own sweatpants,” Genji says. “I will change in my own quarters.”

“Go for it. I’ll be back in the Blackwatch rec room if you need anything else.”

They veer opposite directions in the hallway; McCree back towards the common areas, and Genji to the Overwatch personal quarters. Genji has to take a deep breath when he gets back to his rooms. It’s hard to convince himself to strip out of the armor. At least when it’s on, he can pretend his body is whole and organic underneath it. He doesn’t have to think about the pieces that became something else.

He doesn’t look down at himself and stays away from the mirror as he changes. Armor off, sweatpants on, shirt on, sweater on. He hesitates before he leaves his visor on his bed. In the end, he flinches when he tries to pick the cold metal up again, and leaves it by the pillow.

“...Like he doesn’t melt in anything above 80 Fahrenheit,” Reyes is biting out, when Genji slips into the rec room. He has his back to the door, puttering with something on the rec room’s stove. “Hey, Shimada. Anyway, fucker could stand to pull some strings for the heaters the same way he would for the AC in the summer. Gonna freeze in our beds if this doesn’t get fixed before tonight.”

“Maybe he’s trying to drive you to cuddling for warmth,” McCree chirps. Somehow, in the time it took Genji to change, he’s made a veritable nest out of blankets and pillows on the couch. He gives Genji a bright, easy smile and lifts a corner of the nearest quilt in invitation; Genji doesn’t hesitate, just dives right in.

“I didn’t hire you to meddle in my personal life,” Reyes says. Genji huffs out a little laugh against McCree’s shoulder, because as far as he can tell, Reyes hired McCree so he could worry over the gunslinger like a fussy mother hen. Reyes is probably the one who buried McCree in all these blankets. “Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“Dunno what you mean,” McCree says, loftily. He shifts around until he finds a way to tuck in the blankets around Genji’s side. Genji hums contentedly and curls into McCree’s body heat. McCree hisses a bit when cool strips of synthetic material press against his own limbs. “Ah, shit, how are you putting up with this?”

“Miserably,” Genji grumbles.

“Need another blanket?” Reyes demands.

“No,” Genji says, at the same time McCree says, “No thanks, _dad_ , we’re good.”

“What have I told you about the sass.”

“That it brightens your day and only makes you love me all the more, sir.”

“Lucky it’s so goddamn cold out or I’d have you running laps around the base,” Reyes mutters. McCree flashes Genji a cocky smirk, all crooked teeth and self-satisfaction. Genji only shakes his head, fondly exasperated. “Here, Shimada. See if you can’t stand to take your hands off McCree for a second.”

Genji wriggles his hands free of the blanket nest to accept the mug Reyes passes him. He breathes in deeply and almost burns his tongue eagerly sipping at it.

“No whipped cream, boss?” McCree wheedles, as Reyes passes him his own mug.

“Ziegler would have my ass if she knew I was indulging sweet tooths this much already.”

McCree pouts, pursing his lips to blow over the cocoa and bring it down to a drinkable temperature.

“It’s good,” Genji says. He licks at a drip running down one side of his mug. There’s a sharp kick to it that makes the sweetness all the better.

“It should be,” Reyes says. “Family recipe.”

McCree hums against his mug. Genji curls more fully into the solid line of heat McCree makes against his side. McCree rumbles out a chuckle and adjusts his position to better fit Genji, slotting their bodies against each other under the blankets like pieces of a puzzle. Somehow, his arm ends up thrown around Genji’s shoulders. It’s the metal arm, and a darker part of Genji seethes bitter jealousy that McCree’s prosthetic is still warm and comfortable where Genji’s own body is bitingly cold.

But he’s finally warmed up enough that McCree doesn’t flinch away from his touch, and Genji feels welcomed and soothed. The warmth and coziness of the blanket nest and McCree’s body is only complemented by the spicy-sweet smell of the hot chocolate simmering on the stove. Genji catches his eyelids drooping. He rarely sleeps well these days, and last night was no exception. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically and in every other way he can think of. His body works around the clock just to keep from rejecting new parts and destroying itself. His brain can never quite shut off the restless fear that haunts him. He feels isolated and alone in Overwatch’s halls. Half of a man, waiting to see how his puppet strings will be pulled next.

Here and now, though. For once--for once, he feels safe. Here and now, with McCree’s arm around his shoulders, and Reyes idly stirring cocoa on the stove. Here and now, with the protective gleam in Reyes’s eyes when he glances back over his shoulder at them, huddled together on the couch. Here and now, without his visor to cover his scars, but McCree’s shoulder right in front of him to hide his face against.

“Hey, Shimada-san,” McCree murmurs. Genji mumbles a little, trying to rouse himself to respond. “You passin’ out on me? Don’t spill your cocoa all over yourself, don’t think you wanna warm up that way.”

“Mmph.” Genji slurps at the cocoa and brings a second hand up to secure the mug. His fingers feel clumsy and loose; his body is heavy and slumped in relaxation, pressed against McCree from shoulder to knee by now. “Won’t spill.”

“All worn out from putting up with Jesse’s dumb ass all morning,” Reyes says. “I can relate. You’re a trooper, Shimada.”

“Fuck _off_ , boss,” McCree whines.

“He even let you put that god-awful sweater on him.”

“I told him he could have this one! He _chose_ that one! Besides, you don’t get to make fun of the sweater, you _made_ it.”

“As a _joke_.”

“Morrison wears your joke sweaters!”

“Morrison wouldn’t know a fashionable outfit if it bit him on the ass,” Reyes huffs. Genji’s field of view is only slits of vision obscured by his eyelashes at this point, but he can see the blurry silhouette of Reyes pouring his own mug of cocoa and turning to look at them. He’s not seeing clearly enough to read Reyes’s expression, but that’s fine--he’s seen the soft, proud look Reyes gives McCree in these moments a hundred times before, and in the warmth of the moment, he lets himself pretend that it’s for him, too. “ _Mijo_ , you better take that mug away from him, or nobody’s gonna be able to wear that sweater again.”

“Uh-huh,” McCree says. His fingers tangle with Genji’s gently as he tries to pry them away from the mug of cocoa. “Hey, honey, what’d I tell you, huh? C’mon--”

“‘M still drinking it,” Genji grumbles.

“This nice wool sweater is gonna drink it up in a minute if you don’t let me take it off your hands, honeybee,” McCree says. Genji hiccups out a helpless laugh at _honeybee_ , and the moment of weakness is just long enough for McCree to steal his mug and tuck it off on some side table out of Genji’s reach. Genji frowns blearily at him--here he is, finally warm and happy, and McCree is taking his hot cocoa from him. “Oh no, please don’t make the sad eyes at me. Boss, help.”

“Nah,” Reyes says. He walks past them, ruffling McCree’s hair almost absentmindedly as he passes behind the couch. “Your problem. Rest of the cocoa is yours.”

“Son of a gun,” McCree mutters. “Sayin’ that just ‘cause he knows I can’t get up right now--”

“If you let the cold air back in here,” Genji murmurs, with a coherency that surprises even him, “I will kill you.”

“You charmer,” McCree laughs. “Baby, if you wanted me to stay, all you had to do was ask.”

Genji doesn’t know how to ask, not yet. He’ll learn, he thinks, eyeing the cocoa around McCree’s other side. He wants to believe he can re-learn all these things. He really does. For now, though. Here and now.

Here and now, McCree always just _knows_ , and conveniently looks the other way when Genji leans down to steal a sip of his cocoa.


End file.
